


phosphorescent

by bravest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest/pseuds/bravest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the silhouette standing above him is surrounded in light, the window at it's back letting the sun inside, and for an instant he thinks the dust motes around him shape out wings, and it dawns on him how angelic he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	phosphorescent

he feels a touch on his face like the flutter of wings.

his heart grows heavy and sinks, his hands fumbling to grasp it with fingers that run through it like water. he gives a little smile, a jerk of the lips, but it's brief and flitting. his eyes are closed but he can see a shadow hovering over him through his eyelids, blocking out the light peering from the dusty shutters.

he knows the feathery touch is meant to be the last and he frowns, lying in a bed with a cold spot next to him. when he feels fingertips rubbing at the crease of his brow he reaches for that hand, grasping it tightly at first _(don't pull away)_ only to run his hand down to a wrist, thumb stroking there to soothe out worn and tired skin. skin that he's grown to know as well as his own, and although it already belongs to two people

(he tries not to think about jimmy, he doesn't like thinking about jimmy)

he likes to think it's partly his, too.

a whisper carries his name to his ears and he opens his eyes slowly, blinking. the silhouette standing above him is surrounded in light, the window at it's back letting the sun inside, and for an instant he thinks the dust motes around him shape out wings, and it dawns on him how angelic he is, that he is light and stars and sound, that the human body that contains him had to be chosen carefully because most can't bear the weight of an angel. for an instant his eyes are wonder as his fingers dig into a wrist that pulses with a form his eyes cannot even comprehend, and never will be able to see.

it's sad, but it's a little beautiful too.

"don't go," he whispers, and he can't see his face, not with the sun peering over his shoulder like that, making him squint, not with the sleepiness like tiny weights on his eyelashes, dragging his eyelids down. he sounds like a child, he knows it, but he doesn't care because that warm skin under his fingers is about to flicker away from him in a way too permanent to his liking.

when the silhouette responds, his heart sinks again, at the bottom of his feet, and he knows the only one who will ever retrieve it is about to leave.

"i must," the voice says, and its low and whispered but he hears it like a gunshot to the chest, in the heart. because the voice is firm, above anything else, it speaks of obligation and responsibility and things he doesn't agree with but understands, fundamentally. his fingers relax around his wrist and he sighs, and it's pained, as his eyes flutter closed and his brow furrows and breathing is difficult, isn't it, when your lungs have important things to do and leave you empty.

the silhouette leans over, the freed hand cupping his face briefly. lips find the cusp of his ear and whisper into it, just as two fingertips lightly press at his forehead.

"i'll see you in heaven, dean winchester," spoken soft, a promise, a commitment, and he barely hears it because those two fingers put him into a deep, fulfilling and restful sleep, memory of this scene locked to be forgotten.

he never remembers, but he does know there's something he doesn't remember, and that carries him forward, one step at a time, to the place where castiel is waiting for him.


End file.
